Windows
by slightlysmall
Summary: The thing about windows is how undeniably two-sided they are. You can't look out into the world without expecting to see a glance of yourself in the passing. And you can't look out through a window without inviting the world to look right back in. Molly Prewett looks out through windows... and gives us the opportunity to look in.
1. Scarves and Snowflakes

**A/N: For the One Character Competition. Used prompts: snow, mittens, snowball fight (sort of).**

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Molly Prewett was left inside alone. When snow started falling half an hour ago, Gideon and Fabian ran outside, barely pausing long enough to grab the hats and gloves their mother insisted they wore. Molly was right behind them. Unlike her brothers, she had remembered her mittens, but as she scrambled to put them on and catch the door before it closed, she felt a steady hand on her shoulder. "No, Mollykins. You would catch cold, and I need your help with the knitting."

"But-"

"I said no."

Molly ripped off her mittens and threw them on the ground, stomping over to the window seat overlooking their front lawn. She wanted to be out there, too, making snow angels and catching snowflakes on her tongue. Her brothers had charmed snowballs to fly about. "Mum! They're doing magic!" Gideon and Fabian home for Christmas from their first year of Hogwarts. They had wands now, and didn't seem particular about the rules.

"I'll take care of it. Will you get the yarn sorted for the knitting? I'll make you a new scarf and we can go out together later."

Her mum bundled up and went out the front door. Molly didn't bother watching from her perch; her mother's voice carried into the house well enough to know what was going on without looking. She smiled self-satisfactorily. It was always nice to have her mum yelling at someone else. Molly's own accidental magic had resulted in far too many mishaps, and far too many punishments. She couldn't wait for Hogwarts and the chance to learn to control it.

When her mum finally came back inside, red in the face from yelling or the cold, the yarn was sorted and the knitting needles set out. "Do you think you could make my scarf red and gold, for Gryffindor?"

She smiled and picked up the red yarn.


	2. In the Library

**A/N: For the One Character Competition. I had to write 500-plus words without dialogue that conveyed a specific emotion. Can you guess mine? Anyway, the characters aren't mine. The word count for this story is 845.**

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Molly Prewett paced back and forth in the library. Her nails had gotten noticeably shorter over the last thirty minutes. She walked over to the window, looking out over the grounds of Hogwarts. She loved her family, certainly, but Hogwarts was _home_. She'd always wanted to be a Gryffindor, after all, and now she was in her fourth year of the red and gold. Making friends, learning spells... magical didn't seem a strong enough word when everything about her life was full of magic.

At the moment, though, she was cold and terribly alone. She curled up into the window, resting against its frame as she watched the sun set behind the mountains. _It's strange_, she thought, _how I can spend hours outside and never notice the sun as it moves. But now, as it's dying, it disappears a little more with every blink._

Arthur was supposed to be there by now. He said he wanted help with homework and could she _please _meet him after dinner because he couldn't quite get his Charms right. Molly had to stifle a laugh when she heard this - no, Arthur wasn't charming at all. But that awkwardness that defined him so well made him more charming than the Lestrange brothers, than anyone else could possibly be. So she had agreed to meet him, to help him out, to spend a few hours teasing him and teaching him, praising him if he got it right.

But he wasn't here. She rested her head back against the window frame and Summoned a book from the shelves. A romance book, set in the time of Merlin, came flying into her hands. Molly had already read it several times before, but it would keep her entertained enough while she waited.

As the time passed, however, and curfew drew nearer, she began to give up. What sort of prank was he pulling - asking her to the library and then not showing up? Molly had begun to think that perhaps he fancied her. Maybe they would spend time together, start dating... Merlin, was that what she wanted? She hadn't admitted to _anyone_, not even her best friend, that she might have fancied Arthur Weasley. After all, she was a Gryffindor with Gryffindor friends. They were more likely to tease her for her terrible choice in boys than anything else.

Molly finished the book and climbed carefully off the windowsill where she'd been sitting. She stretched her legs, trying to work out their stiffness. It had been hours. He wasn't coming. She hung her head and shuffled toward the door, slowly, because maybe - maybe - was that footsteps she heard? But it was nearly curfew. If there were footsteps at all, they weren't likely to be good ones. She had paused, perked up at the noise, but kept walking.

She reached the doorway, and an arm appeared, grasping the frame and using it as leverage to spin his body around. He didn't seem to know what to do with all his extra momentum and stuttered some, having to work to keep himself upright as he slowed and eventually stopped. Arthur Weasley stood there, mouth open like he had something to say, but he didn't. She met his eyes and blinked once, slowly, to hold back the water that appeared when she saw him. She gulped; her eyebrows narrowed; but she had to look down before the water in her eyes transformed into tears. Arthur reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, to try and pull her into a hug. Molly could feel it. She knew him. But she didn't want to hear an explanation right now.

Shrugging off his steady hand, she pushed past him, bumping his shoulder harder than necessary as she squeezed through the door frame. The moment she was free of him and in the hallway, she began to sprint, her eyes blurring with tears that began to fall now that she was away from him. Thank Merlin she was a fourth year and knew the way back to her tower by heart. The password was out of her mouth before the Fat Lady asked for it, but she didn't pause at the Common Room. Ignoring the calls of her classmates to see if she was okay, she ran straight up the flight of stairs to her room and collapsed on the bed.

The rest of the night, Molly tried not to think about any what-ifs, tried not to think about her expectations or her growing feelings for Arthur Weasley. She tried not to think about what kept him from coming, or whether she would accept his apology should he ever offer one. She tried not to think about forgiving him, or falling into his arms and holding him tight if there was forgiveness to be had. She tried to stop crying and tried not to understand why she was crying in the first place. Molly Prewett tried a lot of things as she lay there alone, and she spent the night failing at every single one.


	3. Playing Pretend

**A/N: For the One Character Competition, where I had to write more than 100 words about Molly as a child. I had a choice of ten prompts and had to use at least three; of them, I used "shadow" (I used "shadows"), "butterfly" (I used "butterflies), "explore" (I used "explorer"), "pretend," and "mess."**

**Also for the Hunger Games Competition, round one. I had ten prompts to choose from and had to use five. The five I used were: Molly Prewett Weasley, word "fantastic," weapon "sword," dialogue, "What are we going to do now?" and word count, "625."**

**Also for the Harry Potter Spells Competition, for _Expecto Patronum_, where I had to write something happy.**

Molly Prewett sat up on her knees, leaning forwards against the back of the velvet arm chair. She crossed her arms against the chair's crest, staring out the window at the sunlight. Perhaps, just this one time, her mother would let her play outside. She was five years old already, and she knew the rules: Stay close to the house, leave the garden gnomes alone, try not to get too angry or excited so that no accidental magic would happen; she didn't need Gideon and Fabian to look after her. They were... irresponsible. Molly smiled. She liked that word - she had heard her mother use it the last time her twin brothers were in trouble.

Climbing down out of the large chair, Molly cautiously approached her mother, who was making supper in the kitchen. She took a breath. "Mum?"

"Yes, Mollykins?" Her mother replied, not turning around from the pot on the stove.

"Could I please go play outside?"

Molly had used her sweetest, most grown-up voice, but still her question prompted a sharp glare from her mother. "By yourself? Absolutely not! You are far too young for that."

"But you let Gideon and-"

"No 'buts' about it, Molly. I said no. I want to keep you close, darling."

"What if Gideon and Fabian come outside with me?" Molly wasn't particularly interested in playing with them, and knew they weren't interested in playing with her, either. But if they were outside, supposedly minding her, she could go off on her own, chasing butterflies and playing pretend.

"I guess if Gideon and Fabian agree to go outside with you, that would be okay. But one hour only - then it will be time for supper."

Molly grinned. "Yes, mother!" She ran off to her brothers' room, knocking impatiently. "Gideon! Fabian! Come outside with me!"

It was Fabian who opened the door, looking annoyed to see his five-year-old sister standing there so eagerly. "What do you want, Molly?"

She looked at her feet. "Well, it's so sunny today, and Mum said I could play outside if you and Gideon come with me."

"Just a minute, Mol," he said, and closed the door. She stood there, shuffling her feet, hearing the whispering inside, but not able to make it out.

When the door finally opened, her brothers looked reluctant. "Okay, we'll go outside and play with you."

That was more than she had hoped for. "You'll play with me?!"

This time, it was Gideon to speak. "Yeah, why not?"

"That's..." Molly struggled to think of the best word. "That's fantastic!"

Outside in the garden, she stopped being Molly Prewett. Instead, she was an old hag, locked in a tower. Gideon was an explorer, seeking an adventure. Fabian was a dragon.

As Gideon approached, an old unmagical broomstick between his legs like a horse, Molly raced to the edge of her imaginary cell. "Help me! I need rescued!"

The fight between the explorer and the dragon was wonderful, and Molly felt like she really was an old hag locked in a tower. The stick Gideon used as a sword pierced the space between Fabian's arm and torso. He fell over, pretending to die.

Their shadows were getting longer, and the crispness of a summer evening began to fill the air. Molly was having far too good of a time to want to go inside, even if her stomach _was_ growling. Soon, however, they had no choice. Mum was at the door, calling them inside, scolding Gideon and Fabian for the mess they made of their clothes. They ate supper in peace, and afterward, when Molly expected the two of them to retreat, they turned to her instead and grinned. "Well, Mol, what are we going to do now?"


	4. After the Library

**A/N: Written for the One Character Competition, Round 4, where I could write whatever I wanted to, as long as it used ****_all_**** of the following prompts: ********parchment****, ********pillow****, ********pale****, ********pick****, ********private****, ********playful, panic.**

******Also written for the Harry Potter Spells Competition: ****__****Silencio,******** where the characters had to communicate via letter or similar; and for the "Favorite Under-Appreciated Pairing" Challenge.**

******Word Count: 1286  
**

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When Molly Prewett first woke up, tearstained and with a headache, she couldn't remember why she was so upset. Burying her head back into her pillow, she tried to wish herself back to sleep; but the images that passed through her mind - a late night alone in the library, the panic that he wasn't going to show up, the pain when he didn't - weren't those of a dream.

Arthur Weasley had stood her up.

Okay, so it wasn't supposed to be a date. She was just supposed to help him with his homework. And she wasn't supposed to want to date him anyway. The way her classmates talked about him, it would seem that he was as strange as Xenophilius Lovegood. She smiled. _No one _would be as strange as Xenophilius Lovegood. Her smile at the thought of the Ravenclaw second year wasn't a particularly permanent distraction, and as she got out of bed and got ready, she was again consumed with equal measures of disappointment and anger.

Because Arthur Weasley had stood her up.

He was in the Common Room when she got there, hard to miss with his carrot-orange hair. He paced about by the fireplace, looking pale, a piece of parchment in his hands. Molly had stopped to observe him for too long; their eyes met. As they looked at each other, both of their expressions changed. Molly's eyebrows narrowed and her lips pursed, her anger surfacing, boiling beneath her skin. Arthur's eyes gained a spark of hope, his lips the hint of a smile. They were clearly on very different pages.

Molly marched over to him, ignoring the older students in the room and shouting as she went. "Arthur Weasley! I can't believe you! Leaving me alone - for hours - without so much as a note or an explanation!"

By then she had caught up to him and was standing inches away, finger pointing menacingly in his direction. "You never gave me the chance to explain! I showed up!"

"Three hours late. Nearly after curfew."

"I came with an explanation, but you obviously had no desire to hear it."

Molly crossed her arms. "And I still don't. Some trick you played on me."

A sly grin crossed Arthur's face, seemingly incongruent with the situation. "You don't have to _hear _me out. I know you'd pick me apart before I could say a full sentence. So... I wrote it down." He handed her the parchment, now wrinkled and a bit clammy from the moisture in his hands. "Just... just say you'll read it?"

She took it and stuffed it into her pocket. "Maybe." It was difficult, keeping up her glare when he was clearly trying to apologize. But she felt it was fair to give him a bit of his own medicine first and went down to the Great Hall without consulting her pocket.

One of the drawbacks to having a loud confrontation in the Common Room is the number of witnesses, including her own nosy friends. Moira O'Keefe had, unfortunately, witnessed the whole thing and was prodding her now as they ate breakfast. "So Molly? Is there something between you and Arthur? What was that about anyway? I couldn't believe me eyes!"

"None of your business."

"If you didn't want it to be my business, you should have been somewhere private." The sparkle in her friend's eyes was just playful enough for Molly to stop herself from telling her off and settle for a dramatic eye roll instead. Unfortunately, Moira was right. She needed somewhere private to read Arthur's note.

The library was out of the question. So was anywhere in Gryffindor Tower. She headed for one of the empty classrooms she sometimes used for practicing spells, but as she walked by, she heard noises that made her certain she didn't want to interrupt. In the same hallway was a broom cupboard. If the classroom was occupied, the likelihood of a broom cupboard in the same hallway being in use was low. Molly slipped inside. "Lumos."

As she unfolded the note, the first thing she noticed was the atrocity masquerading as Arthur's handwriting. But it was legible enough, at least, and she settled onto a crate to read.

_Molly,_

_I am so sorry that I didn't make it to the library in time. Trust me, I really wanted to be there. I left our Common Room at 6:30, but on the way, Amos Diggory got himself into trouble and wanted me to help him out. As we were trying to undo the damage from a spell gone wrong, we, well, we managed to blow out the wall in the unused classroom on the fifth floor. Naturally, that is when Professor Dumbledore came by and decided it would be the perfect opportunity to teach us some sort of life lesson and kept us rebuilding that wall until ten minutes before curfew._

_I reckon he was just trying to keep us out of more trouble for the night. But I didn't have any way I could let you know and I spent the whole time feeling miserable. Dumbledore noticed, I reckon, because he said - well, never mind what he said._

_Anyway, I really wanted to be there with you. Studying, I mean. And I hope you can forgive me, and maybe tutor me tonight? You are really brilliant. I know you can help me be charming - er, you know, really good at Charms._

_With love,_  
_Arthur_

By the time she reached the end of the note, she was smiling despite herself. Maybe he cared about her after all. And there was an air of authenticity to it - Amos Diggory was known for getting himself into sticky situations, and he and Arthur weren't the best of friends, so she could always ask him what happened, too. He wouldn't be biased about it. Just then, the door opened, and Molly stuffed the note away, scared to face whatever couple she would have to explain herself to.

But Arthur stood there alone.

"How did you find me?"

"Moira said you'd run off, so I thought of the unused classroom on this floor first. When that, well, wasn't empty, I figured I would check the rest of the hallway."

"Smart of you. I'm sorry for going batty on you this morning, it's just that-"

Arthur grabbed her hand. "It's okay. I get it. I would've gone batty on you, too, if the situation had been reversed. Not that anyone can get quite as angry as you do," he added, his eyes playful.

"Arthur Weasley, you will pay for that!" She let go of his hand, somewhat regrettably, and pushed him lightly. "I'm the kindest person out there."

"I never denied that. You're just also a bit batty." He smiled and she could see his insincerity. He pulled her in for a hug, holding her far closer and more gently than just two friends making up should.

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"Did you just want to meet me because I'm best at Charms?"

"Well, no." He paused and took a deep breath. "I actually had a rather elaborate plan for doing this, but it seems a bit extravagant now." He pulled apart from their hug, keeping their fingers intertwined. "Molly Prewett, will you be my girlfriend?"

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"What was it that Professor Dumbledore said to you?"

It took Arthur a long time to stop laughing long enough to tell her properly. "He said, 'Ah, young love. It makes even the best of us absolutely miserable.'"

Molly joined in his laughter and they walked down the corridor holding hands. Dumbledore must have been wrong, because she didn't feel miserable at all.


	5. Of Dark Times and Starlight

**For the One Character competition: I was inspired by the quote "Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them. - Dali Lama. I had three prompts to choose from and I used two: Complicated and stars.**

**Also for the As Strong as We Are United Competition, where 'star' was a bonus prompt.**

**I'm not JKR. I don't own Molly or Arthur.**

**Word Count: 1541**

In an isolated place like the Burrow, in dark times such as these, any owl was treated with apprehension. Their owl brought the Daily Prophet, which had an ever-increasing death toll. Letters from relatives were rare, since most were in hiding. Molly Weasley had resigned herself to bad news - and only bad news - a long time ago. So when the tawny owl belonging to her brothers came flying through the window, the sunny day and blue skies were neither encouraging nor inviting. Molly braced herself against the counter of the kitchen.

"Archimedes!" Bill exclaimed, looking up from the coloring he was doing at the island. "Are Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon coming to visit?"

"I don't think so. They don't usually send letters before visiting."

Bill dropped his gaze, disappointed. "Oh. Okay. I miss them, though, Mum. I haven't seen them since my birthday, and that was _forever _ago."

Molly reached over to pat his shoulder. He would be five soon, and seemed so grown up already. "Maybe they will visit for your birthday this year."

Her oldest son's eyes lit up. "Really? They are my favorite uncles! And we never have any visitors."

"I know, sweetheart. Let me just read what they've said now," she said, detaching the note from Archimedes's leg, which had been prodding impatiently at her arm.

"I wish I could read," Bill said, but it seemed more a thought to himself than anything else, so Molly didn't reply, turning instead to her brother's script.

When she realized the contents of the letter, a small gasp escaped her throat. Certainly, it was only a matter of time, and she knew it would happen. But now? They were still so young - not yet thirty. The Order of the Phoenix was no place for two toerags like her brothers. But Fabian had seemed to anticipate her worried response, for he continued on, noting that the majority of the Order were even younger than Molly herself. She sighed; after all, she was only twenty-five years old. Was this war really meant to be fought by young idealists seeking justice? You-Know-Who was nearly twenty years older than herself. What kind of fight was he picking?

But the other members, young though they might be, were still trained Aurors, and trained under Alastor Moody himself. They were prepared for this. Her brothers: tradesmen in Diagon Alley, and hardly making it by at that. What could they bring to the Order?

"Passion," Arthur said later that night, once he came home from work. "Your brothers have a passion and a willingness to do what is right. Why would Dumbledore pass them by once they showed interest?" He sat beside her on the couch and she curled into him, feeling like a newlywed again, seeking safety in his arms. Arthur's hand found its way into her messy hair and began massaging her scalp. It was a routine action, habit more than anything now, but it soothed her nerves.

"I suppose you're right. But then, if they can join, it makes me want to be there too. I am as qualified as they are - and my experience in Healing might come in useful."

****"You can heal from the Burrow, though. And we have children to raise. We can't endanger their lives and ours when they are still so young."

She sat up, curling sideways on the couch to face him. "You're right. I know you're right. But it feels like such a cop out, throwing our children at them as an excuse for why we are just standing by when there is a war to be fought. Imagine if the war doesn't end. Imagine if we raise our children in a world where they never knew a time before fearing You-Know-Who. Imagine Bill coming of age and having to fight him himself! If I can do anything to make our world a better place for them, I want to do it." Molly had to catch herself as her voice raised. She wasn't cross with Arthur at all - he was just there, someone to carry the frustrations she refused to send in a reply to her brothers. "I'm sorry," she said, whispering. "It's just-"

"I know." Arthur pulled her close again, rubbing his hand along her back in small circles. "I know, I know, I know." Charlie whimpered from upstairs. "Should we-"

Molly shook her head. "He'll be okay for now. He's probably just having bad dreams." Leaning deeper into her husband, she sighed and wished that the past five years had just been a bad dream, too. Dark times, they called them. Dark times indeed. Charlie's whimpering grew into a full-out cry and Molly was scared he would wake up Bill. "I'll check on Charlie after all, I suppose," she said.

Arthur nodded. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, I'll be right back." She climbed up the creaking, crooked, stairs to her son's room. He stood up in his crib, bawling, but he calmed down some at the sight of her. "It's okay, Charlie. Mummy's right here. You'll be all right." She picked him up and sat down in the rocking chair in the corner, holding him tight. Most days, this was all there was - rocking her baby, making lunch, teaching Bill, preparing him to read. Outside the Burrow, war took the lives of her friends, her old classmates and old professors. Perhaps one day it would take her family. But for now, most days, her life was the monotony of motherhood, in all its joy and misery. The war only left her lonely in a time when no one dared to leave their houses. Its effect on her was minuscule. Most days.

Some days, like today, the war came sweeping in and became what her life was about. She felt isolated and in the middle of it all at the same time; her brothers were going off to fight in a war she believed in but could do nothing about. Molly had sons to care for. It felt like an excuse and a burden all at once, wrapped up into something she wasn't sure she could handle, especially not while her brothers were in danger. Lost in her thoughts, it took minutes before she realized Charlie nestled asleep in the crook of her arm. His red hair was long, matted to his forehead in front from the sweat of summer and nightmares. Carefully, she laid him back into his crib and walked downstairs.

"Is it enough?" she asked when she reached the living room.

"Is what enough?" Arthur replied, looking up from stoking the fireplace.

"Raising children."

"What do you-" Arthur paused. "Oh, Mollywobbles, come here, love."

She made her way back to him, collapsing into his arms exhausted. All she wanted to do was be of some _use _during the war, not stuck out in the country, relying on the little news she was sent to know if she would be okay. War was a complicated thing, and raising a family in the middle of the war was infinitely more so. Molly calmed down some, then pulled away from her husband. "I think I'm going to go outside for a moment. Will you keep an ear out for Charlie?"

He kissed her forehead. "Of course, love."

Molly got up and made her way into the garden. It was a beautiful night; clear, with stars shining through an inky black sky. She made her way to a grassy patch at the far side of the garden and lay down, feeling childish but with the burden of motherhood on her shoulders. The night brought chill with it, but it was the comforting chill that came after a warm summer's day and it left her refreshed rather than shivering. The world was calm and quiet; Molly wondered when the last time was that she had been alone, not fretting over her children or the bustle of daily life. In the midst of the madness, she thought that not all dark times were bad. It took darkness to see starlight.

And yet - and yet she felt the only reason for existence at all was to help people. She wanted to help the Order. She wanted to get her hands dirty and risk her life and feel like she was doing something, anything, rather than hiding away. But the choice to help had to be weighed carefully. What good would she be helping her brothers, helping Dumbledore, if that would put the lives of her family in danger? Even risking her own life would be doing her sons a disservice. Perhaps, if she couldn't help, the least she could do was not hurt them, and not hurt as many as possible. Bill, Charlie, Arthur... they needed her. And Fabian and Gideon needed her support.

Though she felt some sadness leaving behind the stars and constellations and the inviting darkness outside, it was with new resolve that she got up from the grass and went inside again. She smiled at her husband and Summoned parchment and her favorite quill. Sitting down by the hearth, she composed a letter to her brothers, sending her love and wishing them the best.


	6. The Perfect Start to Forever

Written for the One Character Competition, where I had to write a fic under 631 words about anything. I had to use five of fourteen prompts, and chose: frown, pause, pleasant, busy, and touch.

Also for the Snakes and Ladders Competition, where my character was Arthur Weasley. And the As Strong As We Are United Competition, with the prompt scarlet.

Word count: 594

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Moira O'Keefe stood solemnly beside Molly, reaching down to tuck a curl behind her friend's hair. "I've never seen you look so beautiful," she said, "And I don't think it's just the dress." Molly blushed, but Moira kept speaking before she could interrupt. "Arthur Weasley - who would have thought?"

Molly's laugh did more to accentuate her rosy cheeks and happy face than Moira's excellent makeup application had. "_Everyone_ would have thought. We were made for each other, and you know it. Everyone knows it."

Moira frowned, suddenly growing serious. "If everyone knows you were made for each other, why aren't your parents here?"

"They like Arthur," Molly said fervently. "They just think that eighteen is too young, and, well, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Could you please help me with the buttons of my dress? I think it's nearly time."

Moira looked like she wanted to pursue the subject further, but kept her mouth shut, for which Molly was grateful. She turned around so her best friend could do up the last of the buttons on her wedding dress, and in doing so, she looked out the window of the small cottage they had rented for the day toward the arch that had been conjured near the edge of a field. Arthur stood there already, his favorite brother at his side and the minister standing by. Arthur shuffled nervously, as though trying to look busy, and smiled weakly at the few guests milling about.

"Okay, Molly, I'm done. And I think it's time." She smiled and held out her arm as they walked out of the cottage.

Upon seeing her, their friends from Hogwarts stopped chatting and immediately stood to either side of the makeshift aisle lined with scarlet rose petals. With neither pomp nor circumstance, with no music accompanying her entrance, Molly still didn't feel like anything was missing because she was staring straight ahead at the man who would soon be her husband.

Her walk seemed like an eternity, and she couldn't wait for it to end so she could stand beside him, touch his hands, find herself falling in love again, like she did at every instant. But she forced herself to savor the time she spent approaching him. Arthur Weasley was wonderful, so unashamed to be himself, absolutely engaged with life and interested in living it to its fullest. He approached everything with fervor, and loved her the same. Arthur was not a timid man, but his passion was different than hers, complementary. He was perfect for her. She couldn't wait to grow older beside him.

They arrived to the front and paused, Moira and Molly kissing each other's cheeks as Moira moved to stand beside her. Arthur took her hands and led her to face him, then whispered, "You look beautiful."

The ceremony passed in a pleasant blur as Molly and Arthur nodded in the appropriate places and spoke when necessary, but each was waiting impatiently for the moment when their lives would begin as husband and wife. Finally, the minister seemed to be reaching the end of his thoughts about marriage and love and happiness; Molly snapped to attention in time to repeat her vows, place Arthur's simple ring upon his finger, and receive her own.

The minister turned them to face their small audience and said, "I present to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley." And as her husband turned to her and placed an unashamed kiss upon her lips, Molly Weasley couldn't imagine a more perfect start to forever.


	7. Someone To Live Up To

For the One Character Competition: I had to write between 500 and 800 words with my character interacting with another character, and one prompt. I chose Molly ii and trust.

I apologize - I didn't think about the complications about writing two Mollys. Hopefully it's all clear.

Word Count: 791

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Molly was unsure what to do. The whole family had been over, as was tradition for the first week of holidays. But by late afternoon the next day, the house had been completely tidied. "Arthur, dear," she said, looking up from her Christmas knitting (one never could start too soon).

"Yes, Mollywobbles?" He sat in an easy chair across from her, examining a rather fascinating rubber duck that Audrey had brought over. This one was costumed as what Lucy called a gangster. Arthur was enthralled.

"What would you think about me taking up a job as a Healer again?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"It's just so quiet. I need something to do with my time besides knit Christmas jumpers in June. I miss my work, even still."

"If you're certain, then you'd be welcome to. But what about all the times when your grandchildren Floo in for your advice?"

"They're getting older, Arthur. Certainly it won't happen too much more now."

Arthur just smiled and nodded to the kitchen fireplace, where a thirteen-year-old girl stood dusting off soot, coughing quietly. "Hello, Molly. Good to see you," he said, smiling.

"Hey, Grandad. Gramma, can I talk to you please?"

"Of course, dear. Where do you want to go?"

Molly looked down and shuffled her feet, clearly embarrassed over something. The elder Molly wasn't surprised; after all, her granddaughter was thirteen. Being embarrassed was nearly a full-time occupation. "The garden bench maybe?"

"Okay." She pulled her granddaughter close and put an arm around her waist; while at Hogwarts, her namesake had grown at least six inches and was now a head taller than her grandmother. But Molly didn't mind. Children needed advice long after they outgrew their advisers. Molly had learned this many times. The young girl barely paused after sitting down before beginning to sob. "Molly, dear, what's wrong?"

"Why-" she sniffled. "Why did my father have to name me after you?"

The elder Molly sighed. She had a feeling this wasn't the real problem, but it was at least a place to start. She rubbed her granddaughter's shoulders. "Do you want an answer that will make you feel better, or would you like what I believe to be the truth?"

"The truth," she sniffed.

"I believe your father felt guilty. As you know, he disowned our family for years, and it took a full-on war before he came back to apologize. I think in his own way, naming his first daughter after me was supposed to be a sign that he was truly sorry."

"Did it work?" the young girl asked, looking up from the hands she'd been crying into.

"Yes. But for your sake, I think there could have been better ways to do it. What made you so upset over your name?"

Tears subsiding, she looked up at her grandmother, light brown eyes open wide, but red around the edges. "You and Grandad fell in love when you were fourth years. I'm going to be a fourth year - what if I don't find love like you? What if my life isn't as perfect as yours? I feel like it should be - like I'm supposed to be just like you."

"Molly, your father never intended for you to be just like me. In fact, I'm sure he'd be appalled at raising his mother's double. You don't have to do justice to my name just because it's my name. And you certainly don't have to fall in love at fourteen years old. I wouldn't want you to."

"You wouldn't? Why not?"

"Arthur and I had to wait a long time before we could get married, and even longer before our families accepted our love. I only worked for two years before having Bill. I don't have any regrets - but your life isn't the same as mine was. Times are different. I married in the middle of a frightening war, and, as much as I love Arthur, I don't want that for you."

"What if I never find love?"

"I wouldn't worry about that just yet. You're going to have to trust that the right kind of love will come to you - when you are ready for it. Not when you should because your name is Molly, or because all your friends are doing it. I want you to be yourself, Molly. Not me, not who your friends want you to be, and certainly not who a boy wants you to be. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I think so. But if I get confused -"

"You are always welcome here, Molly. Do you want to stay for dinner?"

"No - Dad's waiting for me. But thanks, Gramma. You give the best advice."


	8. Thriving in the Late-Summer Sun

For the One Character competition: I had to write about Molly at age 65 or older, with the prompts: clear, mirror, count, press, and doubt.

For the As Strong As We Are United competition: I used the prompts: home, lie (I used lay, the past tense of the verb "to lie"), different, childhood, courage, obsession, and pond.

Word Count: 708

* * *

Molly Weasley didn't like the way age looked on her. Sixty-eight years old, she faced the mirror in the early morning like she was about to duel, standing fierce and strong and challenging her competitor to try and take her down. She hated that her competitor was old age, was herself. Studying the mirror, she saw silvery hair framing her face, much thinner than it had ever been, and she could no longer count the wrinkles around her eyes.

Her reason for being was to mother, and now her youngest was thirty-seven and had three babies - if they could still be called babies - of her own. Today was September the first. Today, five of her seven children (because there was still Fred. There was always still Fred) would be dropping off children of their own at the Hogwarts Express.

Victoire was already in her final year there, training to be a Healer (the same way Molly had been at that age, which still only felt like yesterday, or maybe last week). Dominique, Roxanne, Molly, Louis, James, Lucy, all going back to Hogwarts. And Rose and Albus joining them this year.

Grandchildren grew up quicker than children did, Molly was sure of it.

Just the night before, Ginny had been there with her whole family. Molly watched them through the window coming up the walk, but she didn't see her daughter and grandchildren: the picture of them was like a window to her own past. Seeing them made her miss the long-ago days of her children's childhood, of scolding and smiling at their antics. Once inside, James and Albus chatted about Hogwarts, while Lily Luna yelled at them for leaving her out. The noise in her house only made her nostalgic.

"Let me come with you to King's Cross tomorrow," Molly said suddenly. "I want to see my grandchildren off."

"I don't know, Mum. It's a tough trip, and these three... they don't make things any easier, that's for sure."

Molly's voice grew cross. "I know that perfectly well, Ginevra. I raised seven, remember?"

"Of course, Mum. But you've had your days at King's Cross. You and Dad took us without Gramma Prewett hovering over your shoulder. I'm just as capable as you are, Mum."

"I know that! This is not like Gramma Prewett wanting to be there! It's completely different. I don't think you're incapable... I just... I miss... I miss being needed. Being a mother is difficult when your children leave childhood."

Ginny smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I can believe that. I already feel that way with James. Second year already! And just like his namesake from what I hear. Speaking of which, how is his _other_ grandfather doing? How's Dad?"

"Oh, you know your father. He's enjoying his retirement." She could feel a twinkle forming in her eye as she spoke. "He spends all his time out in his shop studying the rubber ducks Audrey keeps leaving for him and looking at blueprints of aeroplanes. I think he made some kind of deal with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department to keep them away from the Burrow. Retired from there years ago, but still completely obsessed."

They laughed and the evening passed quickly. Molly sent her three grandchildren off with presents and promises to write to the boys while they were off at school. Now, she stood in front of the mirror again. The clear picture grew blurry and as she watched, the wrinkles faded, her hair changed back to red and grew fuller... she imagined herself at age forty but could picture only Ginny. She and her only daughter were so much alike - for better or for worse.

And today, on September the first, her children and grandchildren were at King's Cross without her. She fixed her hair and walked out to the garden and its small pond. The weather was beautiful as eleven o'clock neared. It took courage, she decided, to stay at home when she felt like she needed to be doing something. It took courage to keep from doubting her children's own parenting abilities. But they were raised by the best. She smiled smugly and pressed on toward the back gate, where wildflowers lay thriving in the late-summer sun.


End file.
